


Angie and the Gal Pals

by dankscully, orphan_account



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Rating May Change, just woman loving woman and being rad as hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 08:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dankscully/pseuds/dankscully, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or the one where Angie is five and a half feet of leather, where girls shouldn't chew that much gum but they do, smoke laced lungs, waxed lips, and five woman in the 1940's who let the sun guide them. </p><p>Just gals bein' pals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angie and the Gal Pals

**Author's Note:**

> First chap!!! This started as a dumb head canon that then spiralled out of control. This whole aesthetic and idea of Angie with Peggy and a gang of girls driving bikes in the 1940's? Guess me an dankscully signed up WAY too fast. 
> 
> Also that rad chick (also beta to this story and co-writer) @dankscully on tumblr is going to be drawing some amazing art for this in the future!!! Go check her out or follow her and give her some love!! AND she did a little mood board and its beautiful (link in the little x below) If you'd like to fine me on tumblr as well for all your cartinelli needs I'm @thatcharmandsass :)
> 
> Anyways, enjoy the first chap of this story that i yet have to see how far it goes xo

 

[x](http://dankscully.tumblr.com/post/128257626335/thatcharmandsass-angie-n-the-gal-pals)

~

 

 

Angie’s always been a good girl. Despite her rep, she’s polite as ever.

Despite her bites of fiery grit, despite her small but angry body, _despite_ how she can knock a guy out in two seconds flat, Angie is all sunshine and roses and dimples and love.

So, introductions first, right?

You can start with the one and only, Angie _“Little Italy”_ Martinelli. Lips as sweet as candy and body as petite as a showgirl. Skirts colour her wardrobe _and_ legs for days, and her leather jacket fits in all the right places. She’s the overdramatic one of them all, flirting for free drinks, crying like a baby for free fuel. One time she got out of a parking ticket by, and quote, “pretending her Ma died and blubbering like a third grader”

And all the guys can tell ya she never misses a beat when dancin’.

(Not that it’s guys she goes for, but you can’t really stop the apes)

Then, you got her best friend.

Rosie _“The Red Machine” Davidson_. Hair as red as blood, freckles paint her face like art, and _man_ that girls got a thing for cars. And motorcycles. And trucks. Actually, you know what? She’s got a thing for the _lot_. Her eyes are so green that people say she got em from a heist at a jewelry store years back.

Yep, she got a story attached to her eye colour. (Rosie has a thing for emeralds)

And yeah, you read that right. Her name is _exactly_ what you think it is. Where do you think the love for smooth talking, road bustin, machines came from? Her Grandad, Arthur Davidson of course. This is one of the stella ways she gets the guys, that and her favourite technique of _“flirt now, talk later boys!”_

Then, ya got their hidden weapon. Angie’s always had a soft spot for her. Janet _“Bubblegum”_ Lawson. Skin like smooth chocolate and hair so soft that some people say it came from the sky itself. Like the clouds fell and landed perfectly. She loves pink, hence the nickname. That girl even owns _panties_ in the colour. Only gal with a pink jacket instead of black.

Some other girls wonder about her curled hair, word gets around about “the negro of Angie’s clique” being a cheater and wearing a wig. But usually, Trixie stands behind her folding her arms and _those_ ladies high tail outta there.

Oh, then there’s that Trixie.

_Or_ Beatrice Guerra. She might have a cute name, but her towering figure,curly black hair, and thick Latino accent will make you think twice. Her cigarette smoking talents make men weak. Though, the girl swings like a swing set, so she makes _anyone_ weak at the knees with her lips curling as she takes a drag. Puffing out the craziest of swirls into anyones breathing space.

First time they met, she used that trick on Bubblegum. Sufficed to say, Janet is so into her you’d be crazy not to see it.

_Man,_ then you got Margaret _“Peggy”_ Carter. Or better known as _“English”_

Angie can’t stand straight when that girl is mentioned. But that’s a story for another day.

Oh, she comes back, don’t worry. With the taste of the sweetest blood on her lips, and Angie’s name tattooed on her wrist in typewriter letters. She has family up in England. Grandad passed. Poor girl had to done fancy dresses and drink tea for two weeks, faking smiles and stepping out her parents mansion to take a drag.

Rosie jokes she’s the _one_ for Angie with the way Angie sighs and waits for her gal and groans about how she’s not here. Angie just always punches her in the arm with a “Knock it off Rose, can ya blame a girl?”

Rosie kinda can’t. You’d understand if you met Peggy.

It’s a _lotta_ info. Right?

Where do you look? Where do you start?

You start in 1947. You start with the sound of elastic sweetness being popped through red and pink lips. You start with 23 year old Angie, with her big dreams and her gals having even bigger hair.  You start with the smell of leather and smoke, the rev and thrum of Rosie’s motorcycles that seeps into your lungs and stomach like the sweetest of cigarettes.

You start, my _dear_ reader, with five-well, _four_ women and their dreams. With sunsets and young broads that let the wind in their hair guide them.

People call them _“Angie’s Gal Pals”._ Trixie hates the name, but not everyone can really argue against Trixie that the name kinda fits. If you really want 6ft of bubble poppin’ death, go tell her that.

They’re so close that Angie’s Ma once said they mays as well glue all that bubblegum they chew to their bodies and call it a day. Yeah, Angie can agree, the five of ‘em are like that.

Not many people know where they go, or what they do.

But hey, Janet thinks the whole _allusive_ thing just adds to their mystique.  

So bottom line reader: They’re easy to find. Totally!

If you know where to look.

**  
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~

**  
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“Okay Bubbles, I’m gonna give ya _one_ minute to hand over the fries.”

Angie snorts as the ‘bubbles’ in question, Janet, just plops the fry into her mouth with a cheeky grin at the warning tone directed at her. Trixie growls and darts over the table to ruffle Janet’s hair, Angie just laughs as they struggle against each other.  

She kicks the both of em under the table, her light blue skirt moving with her leg as she rolls her eyes.

“Stop flirtin’ and share! Rosie’s comin’ back with more. And your body don’t need the extra energy to grow anyways, Trix.”

Angie gets a cold fry tossed at her forehead in retaliation. That makes her gasp in offence, blink once, then flick her milkshake straw. Froth lands on Trixie’s cheek. Her thick accent pouring through as she flinches at the cool touch, she glances at Angie’s now shocked, yet cheeky, grin.

“Oh honey, you did _not-”_

“Jeez, both of ya cool it. Or do you _not_ want what Jeff whipped us up?” Rosie appears, hip bumps into the booth next to Angie, and steals a handful of Trixies precious fries. Shoving them in her mouth as the leather of her jacket rubs up against Angie.

Trixie frowns and lets it go. Janet watches their teasing, looking over at the object of her affection with barely concealed infatuation, hand propping up her chin and smiling like a lovesick puppy.

_Ugh,_ is Angie that bad with Peggy?

“Wait,” Angie says, suddenly losing her train of thought. “Jeff actually cooked somethin’ up for us? _Without_ us beggin’?” Angie directs it at Rosie, eyebrows furrowed as her friend just half smiles while still chewing on cold fries.

“Ya know,” Rosie says, leaning into the middle of the table, chewing open mouthed, the girls leaning in after her conspiratorially. “Even though we run this city, food ain’t comin’ for free”

Janet’s the first to react, slapping her hand down on the table with wide brown eyes as her fluffy curls bounce.“Not it!”

Angie’s next, rolling her eyes and blowing a bubble as it pops. “I shouted last time”

Rosie looks around the table, eyebrows raised and snorting. “Girls if ya think for one second I’m payin’ again, you can get your own damn bikes”

All eyes land on Trixie. She scoffs and reaches into her jacket’s inside pocket, throwing the bills on the table and leaning back arms crossed. The other girls respond with shit-eating grins and laughs.

_“Puta’s”_ She sneers.

The diner’s their go to hang out spot, don’t mean they’re the type to dine and dash.

**  
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~

**  
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Oh, another fun fact.

Angie’s brothers like to get into trouble. Like...policemen holdin’ em by the scruff kinda trouble. Have for years, and they haven’t figured out how to get _outta_ it yet.

That’s why Janet sighs from where she’s sitting at the counter sipping a milkshake. The rest of the girls stand outside by their bikes, leaning on the seats with hands shoved in their pockets, waiting. Trix lighting one up between her fingers.

Jeff then whispers to Janet, leaning on his elbows as he scrubs a glass. “Angie’s little brother, Marco, right?” He asks, and Janet nods, tapping her nails on her glass.  

“Yeah, well, he just rang in.” Jeff says.

She crosses her legs at the knee and sips at the straw, head turning slightly sideways, her dark curls moving with it like always.

“And? The usual?” The ‘usual’ just means Angie uses her golden flirting- dragging her nails up policemen’s shirts and calling it a day when she promises a “Friday Night at 6” that never comes.

But Jeff shakes his head, leaning from the counter as he throws the towel over his shoulder. He furrows his brows.

“You gals need to call in Carter. Angie’s girl, right?” His gruff voice goes up in the end in questioning, worry also lilting his voice. 

_Oh_ man, _this calls for English?_

The straw comically falls from Janet’s mouth as her pink lips part.

**  
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~

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If you need a little backstory on the great Peggy Carter, lets just say it started with brief confusion of heist dates, a desperate Margaret, and Angie shrugging as she stuffed Peggy’s hands with cash.

Okay, rewind.

1946\. September 15th. _Angie’s Gal Pal’s_ heist date.

Peggy, at the time, was a lone ranger as they say. Hitchhiking with any old soul in a battered  leather jacket with text on the back in an arch reading: _The Howling Commando’s._ It was so torn, the little shield in the middle was faded next to nothin’

And turns out, the great Peggy Carter?

Heist. Master. _Extraordinaire_.

When Angie first saw her in action, when Peggy decided to steal from _their_ location at the time, Angie can honestly say she had never seen anything more beautiful. Or sexy. _Or holy hot damn._

‘Cause the way Peggy vaulted the bank counter, demanding hard cash into her bag with a Smith and Wesson ‘44, Angie stood at the door with her girls around her looking awestruck. Rosie elbowed her, eyes wide waiting for instruction. Do they leave and forget about the score? Or tell this woman what’s what?

Angie had other plans. So entranced by Peggy, she ran quickly in her high heels and signature skirt and climbed over the counter. Her girls following, wide-eyed and looking around.

Angie just grabbed at notes and stuffed them down Peggy’s bra and her own, Peggy open mouthed and seething as she frowned.

“What on _earth_ are you-”. Angie quickly flashed a grin and shoved more into her pockets and Peggy’s jacket, hearing sirens in the distance. As a cowering woman on the ground slammed a red button with a squeak.

“If ya wanna _not_ sleep behind bars tonight, follow me, English”

What could Peggy do but follow three leathered up girls, including a skirt-adorned _cute_ one- to the back door?

The door they fled to then slammed open as they sprinted from the sirens, Peggy tailing Angie and taking in the looming Latina, small beautiful black girl, and the one with fire for hair that follow in confusion but loyalty.  They make it to the back car park, four shining Harley’s (Peggy notes a distasteful pink one) waiting patiently. Peggy gapes a moment, but has the petite woman's hand around her wrist in seconds.

“Come on, English!”

Peggy shook her head and followed, the other girls already helmet clad and revving the engines.

The small girl she’s with grins full of adrenaline towards Peggy, and hops on one of the bikes, twisting the accelerator as she starts it up. Holding out her one helmet urgently but with that same smile. The bike has a warm thrum, under Peggy’s thighs it travels up her spine and she feels it in her jaw.

Kinda like the mystery woman’s voice who shoved bills down her brasserie.

“Buckle up and hang on! This baby-”

Peggy then turns after the woman’s voice, five policemen in their line of sight as they shoulder the back door. The other girls already leaving with a skid and smoke. The men have batons waving in anger, two of ‘em already aiming guns. Peggy’s eyes widen and her heart pumps so loudly she wouldn’t be surprised if the other woman could feel it on her back. “Christ!”

She urgently smacks the woman on the shoulder repeatedly, the petite woman turning with a frown but her mouth then hanging open at the sight.

“Shit!” Her saviour knocks the bike into gear with her foot, grabbing Peggy by the jacket and shoving her behind her more tightly. “Get that helmet on English! And don’t you dare let go of my hips, ya hear me!?”

Peggy should be focusing on how there’s police pointing guns at her and yelling _“Stop right there!”,_ **not** how the bike and the woman slightly turn her on and how _“Angie’s Gal Pal’s”_ is stitched into the woman’s back.

But Peggy tries to forget that, and buckles the helmet over her curled hair and shouts back, gripping onto the woman’s hips. “What did you say!? Angie I presume!? I can’t hear-”

And with a scream from Peggy and a bark of laughter from the skirt saviour, the bike leaves a trail of smoke, the policemen coughing from the tires. Peggy latches onto Angie’s jacket and hips for dear life, Angie smiling cheekily back at her over her shoulder. Fresh hundred dollar bills fly in their wake, out of their pockets that flap in the wind. But Peggy couldn’t find it in herself to care. She laughs with Angie out of either stupid relief, or that the other girl just has the most contagious laugh.

When they both look back on it, Peggy is sure it’s Angie’s laugh that makes her smile that wide on the open road. Angie is sure Peggy was just on an adrenaline rush and couldn’t have possibly thought something like that at the time.

They drove till their bikes kissed the sunset.

(It was Angie’s laugh)

**  
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~

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“Hey Ang?”

Janet stuffs her pockets with her fists as she calls out, opening the diner door and skipping over to her girls. Rosie tinkering with her bike in boredom, Trixie on her second smoke, and Angie filing her nails.

She looks up and smiles. “Yeah Bubbles?”

Janet scratches the back of her neck, and with a ‘yeesh’ look, softly asks. “You know when your girl’s coming back to the states?”

Angie frowns, her filing stopping as she smiles bemusedly but happily at her girlfriend's mention, the other two girls coming into the conversation at Peggy being talked about.

Angie answers. “Yeah, tomorrow. Why?”

Janet looks to Trixie for help, but the tall woman just holds her arms up and backs away. She looks to Rosie, eyes pleading.

But Red just pulls her lips in and whistles.

Angie frowns, putting a hand to her hip with the file flicking out. Raising her eyebrow and sighing exasperatedly.  “Which one? Frankie or Marco?” Janet twirls a curl and sways on her feet, a nervous habit, as she winces.

“Marco, Ang”

Now, their team leader doesn’t usually smoke, but when she does, it’s either cause she’s smacking lips with Peggy and breathing her girlfriends smokes in, or cause her brothers got caught by the scruff again.

It’s _definitely_ her brothers.

Angie stamps her foot and whips out her packet from her breast pocket, flipping them open and putting it in between her lips. She doesn’t have to ask, Rosie’s already there with the lighter to Angie’s lips. It lights up and Angie takes a drag, closing her eyes and blowing out as she locks her jaw.

“What’s this? Third time?”

Trixie pipes up. _“Cuarto”_

Angie flicks the cigaret to the ground and grinds down into it with the tip of her foot, snuffing it out as she grits her teeth. “I’m gonna kill him”

Rosie rolls her eyes and jumps on her bike, flipping up her collar and shoving her helmet on. “What’ll be on his headstone this time Ang? Beloved brother? Loved by many?”

Angie growls and jumps on her own, starting her up and kicking angrily into gear. “More like: jackass who gets his little sis and her girlfriend to save him. Rest in Peace.” Rosie laughs and Trixie barks a chuckle. Janet just smiles and hopes to god that at least English is gonna be in the right mood when she comes back.

 

Poor boy wouldn't survive the wrath of Angie Martinelli _and_ Peggy Carter.

**  
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~

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Turns out Peggy’s in a better mood than thought.

They split up, Angie goin’ to her Ma’s house to talk to Marco, Rosie going to her garage downtown, and Trixie and Janet scouting out the Martinelli’s neighbourhood. It always starts like this, two of the gals asking around to see who Marco or Frankie had been talkin’ to. What kinda deal they pulled themselves into this time.

Now, Peggy has dealt with the boys before. Petty theft, beat ups in back alleys, them screwing over clients. The two have trouble tattooed on their arse cheeks. But honestly, Peggy does it just for the relief that floods her girlfriends face when the whole ordeal is over.

That’s why as soon as she steps off the plane, the wind of the day messing up her curls as she drags her hand and nails through it, Peggy beelines straight for the airports phone line. She received a call from Angie yesterday, groaning about her two _idiotas_ and how she misses Peggy’s lips and her smile and her laugh and the way her nails drag down Angie’s spine.

Peggy must of looked love sick with the way she twirled the phone cord around her index finger and smiled with her dimples. She leans on the wall next to the phone, the studs Angie stitched in the shoulder of her jacket scratching it, an elderly woman frowning behind her in the waiting line. Scoffing at her jacket and the words of her girlfriends group on her back.

Peggy just rolls her eyes. Pops a fresh stick of gum in her mouth from her pocket, chews, and blows a bubble big enough to cover her nose. The distasteful look from the old geezer is worth it as it pops, Peggy thinks with a smile.

_Ugh,_ but Peggy gets her karma’s worth when her lipstick sticks slightly to the gum and she gets a tongue full of red, _expensive,_ Besame.

She can’t really complain though, as the bubble gum and lipstick combo tastes like Angie.

She’s brought out of her waiting game and cheesy smiles as the phone connects, Peggy bringing the gum into her mouth and smiling politely now at Angie’s mother’s voice.

Her slightly Italian accented voice reaches her ear. _“Hello? Martinelli house”_

“Maria?” Peggy teases, leaning on the wall still and chuckling at the older woman’s delighted voice and gasp.

_“Peggy! How is my nuora?”_

Peggy blushes, clearing her throat and chuckling at Angie’s mother's antics.

For years now, Maria insists on calling Peggy her _noura_ : “daughter in law” And every time Peggy is once again flabbergasted at how accepting a, mind you, _Catholic Italian mother_ is of Peggy and Angie’s relationship.

Maria is a godsend, knowing her daughter is in an all female gang and that her sons get into anything and everything.

If you ever have the chance to meet her? She’s a woman of many surprises.

So anyways, yes. A 40 year old Italian woman can get big, scary, leather wearing Peggy Carter, _blushing_ at one Italian word. As the word implies Angie and her are married, and although _yes_ she’s working on it. Being reminded of it never ceases Peggy’s heart growing three sizes.

So Peggy continues why she rang, raising her eyebrow at the now impatient elderly woman behind her tapping her foot. “I’m wonderful Maria. Is Angie there?”

Peggy smiles as she says her name, and listens as Maria yells out into the house.

_“Angela! It’s your English!”_

Peggy laughs quietly at the quick _thud thud thud_ of Angie’s feet down her mother’s staircase and her girlfriends breathless voice over the phone. She hears Maria mutter _“oh, di essere giovani e innamorati di nuovo”_ , as she passes the phone over to Angie now bouncing on her feet.

Peggy laughs and pulls the phone slightly from her ear at the excited squeal of Angie.

_“Peggy!”_

The English woman just smiles and says fondly, once again twirling the phone cord around her finger. “Hello darling”

They talk about when Angie’s coming to pick her up from the airport, Angie assures her _“half an hour tops English_ ” and her small Italian wonder goes on a tangent of her brother again and how _“It’s serious now Pegs. Mafia! You hear that? Mafia now!”_

Peggy closes her eyes and sighs, looking to the ceiling in exasperation. “Oh god, and here I thought I could have _one_ day in with you.”

Poor Angie is now sitting on the ground of her Ma’s kitchen and pouting, knees up and feet pointed in at the toes as her back warms the wall. The phone cord stretching to meet her.

_“Can I sick Trixie on em? I swear that boy needs a lesson”_ Peggy laughs, the cord all around her finger now. “Oh as delightful as that would be, I’m sure you’d like him back in one piece”

_“Pssh. Nope. If it means more time with you? I’m in”_

Peggy chuckles again, and the lady glares at her so hard Peggy just blows and pops another bubble.

Angie picks her up twenty minutes later, on her bike with an extra helmet, wearing tight jeans instead. Peggy has to take a second to reign herself in after not seeing Angie for two weeks and suddenly seeing her in all her leather glory, topped with killer combat boots.

But Angie takes her helmet off, smiling all teeth at Peggy and positively jumping off her bike to run into Peggy’s arms. Head into the English woman’s neck as Peggy twirls them around with her arms encircling them both. And like on September 15th, Peggy holds even tighter to Angie’s waist when they get on the bike, hands splayed across Angie’s stomach. Letting the thrum of the motor melt her bones, and Angie’s laughter as they speed down the highway, tingle to her chest.

Peggy then remembers the Italian Angie’s Ma said and taps Angie’s stomach lightly to get her attention. Angie inclines her head backwards. Peggy yelling over the noise of wind and engines and the helmet covering her ears. “Angie, what did your mother say before!? Something Italian!?”

Angie laughs over the noise and winks back over her shoulder. Taking one hand off the bikes handles and intertwining her and Peggy’s hands at her stomach. The wind catching her words and making it sound like chimes.

“She said, English!,” Peggy holds tighter as Angie smiles, eyes bright and shining. “Oh, to be young and in love again!!”

Peggy laughs with her bubblegum showing. And Angie kicks the bike down another gear.

The setting sun, as it splays against the two women's jackets, has never felt warmer against Peggy’s back.

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End file.
